


who else could pull it off, but me and you?

by anastasianikolaevnas



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasianikolaevnas/pseuds/anastasianikolaevnas
Summary: He had learned quite early on in their marriage that Anastasia Nikolaevna was anything but serene like he had once thought her to be.





	who else could pull it off, but me and you?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have zero affiliation with either Anastasia, the musical, or the House of Romanov. All rights belong to respective owners and no disrespect is meant. 
> 
> Prompt: “Are you serious? Here? Now?”

“Are you serious? Here? Now?”

Frantic hands that had been attempting to undo his tie mere seconds ago halt and an eyebrow quirks up incredulously in response to his question.

“Are you _complaining?_ ” She shoots back, disbelief colouring her voice. He has never protested her advances before. After all, it was a particularly favourite pastime of theirs and they both had _plenty_ of practice under their belts by this point.

“What if someone sees us?!” His own voice is painted with astonishment that she hasn't ever seen from him before. Not at her boldness ― he had learned quite early on in their marriage that Anastasia Nikolaevna was anything _but_ serene like he had once thought her to be ― but rather, her sudden urgency for exhibitionism here of all places.

She pauses.

“Men are such babies," she muses, giggling quietly as she shakes her head a little at his words. "Quiet down or they _will_.” Slender hands resume their previous task, only to be interrupted _yet again_ as he grabs her right wrist in a firm grip.

“Anya,” he begins, his voice little more than a guttural groan as her other hand begins travelling down his chest - its destination more than clear to the both of them. “Your grandmother is in the _dining room_.” Maria still hadn’t exactly forgiven him for shouting at her and stomping on her dress that night at the ballet. Dmitry had no desire to _add onto_ what must have already been a terrible first impression by being caught, under _her_ staircase, with his hand up _her_ granddaughter’s dress.

Smiling slyly, Anya’s own voice drops down to a whisper as she raises her heels, standing on the tips of her toes, and brings her lips up to his ear.

“We’ll just have to be quick then,” she coaxes, slowly rubbing him through his pants as she gently nips at his earlobe. However, ' _he needs little convincing_ **_now_** _,_ ' she thinks to herself as the calloused hand that has slipped under her dress trails up over the the bare skin of her thigh. “Won’t we, Dima?”

A low growl escapes his throat. Suddenly, the tie has **finally** loosened and she has been pushed up against the wall. Legs wrap around his waist and the momentary sound of buttons crashing to the shiny, expensive marble floor goes ignored as she tears his shirt open.

Her hands tangle in his hair and his leave trails of fire as they move about her waist, setting both her skin and heart aflame as his lips claim hers in a furious kiss. Once again, her mind is as clouded as it had been the first time they had found themselves like this ― in _this_ position, kissing with such fervor ― on her grandfather’s bridge.

And with his first thrust into her, all thoughts of nana and staying quiet have _certainly_ disappeared from both of their minds.

**Author's Note:**

> This was short, quick, and 100% Chai's fault. I'm going to go swallow a bible now. Happy Sinday, everyone.


End file.
